A Golden Carol
by OUATLovr
Summary: Mr. Gold was feeling especially peevish this Christmas Eve, and decided to take it out on his overly merry renters.


Mr. Gold was feeling especially peevish this Christmas Eve, the twenty-eighth of its kind that he had been forced to endure in Storybrooke, Maine, since the Curse had sprung them here.

Despite the savior's arrival, he harbored almost no hope that the Curse was any closer to breaking than it had been twenty-eight years prior, and this simple truth was weighing down on him, along with the knowledge that he was to suffer through another year of Christmas alone in his shop.

Alone, without his son there beside him.

Emma Swann was a horribly faithless woman, and, despite his assurances that the curse would break this year, he harbored doubts that it would ever be possible to even convince her of the possibility of the curse.

August Boothe, after all, had tried and failed, on that route.

Because Mr. Gold could not take his frustrations out on Emma Swann herself (her being the sheriff), or on anyone else, (the last time he had tried, Emma had locked him up for battery assault), he decided to settle his irritation in the next closest way.

He took it out on his irritatingly merry renters, who had no way of countering him.

The first was Granny, because, out of all of his renters, she had the most holdings, and therefore one of the largest debts.

He swept into the diner some time around noon, not surprised that the place was still open. It was one of the only places in Storybrooke worth spending time at, if one did not have friends and family with which to do so.

Not that Gold would ever admit to such.

Grumpy the dwarf, Emma Swann, and several of the other Storybrooke outcasts glanced up from their eggnog as he entered, but none bothered to approach him as he made his way over to a barstool and slid easily into it.

Ruby, the waitress, he noted, made a point of ignoring him, going instead to the young sheriff and refilling her coffee mug.

Gold sighed, tapping his fingers idly against his cane in irritation until Granny found her way out front.

The old woman wiped her hands on a white apron, making her way over to Mr. Gold with a forced smile. "Something I can do for you?" she asked.

Gold gave her a feral smile. "I've come to collect the rent, Mrs. Lucas; I certainly didn't come for a Christmas pie."

Granny frowned at him. "The rent isn't due 'til next Monday," she said finally, after a stretched out silence during which the other diners turned to stare with gaping jaws.

Gold rolled his eyes. "And I am collecting it early," he responded coldly, "which I am well within my rights to do, given our contract."

Granny grimaced, wiping down the bar with a rag. "Mr. Gold..." she began, in that no-nonsense voice which might have scared many in the Enchanted Forest, but here only made her look ornery, "I don't have your money with me."

"Ah," Gold sighed, pretending, for a moment, to be understanding; he did not fool anyone. "Perhaps it is back at the inn?"

Granny shook her head. "I was expecting the New Years' rush to take care of the rest of the rent."

Mr. Gold almost snorted at that. The New Years' Rush? No one but Emma Swann and August Boothe had ever ented Storybrooke, besides its usual citizens. "Nonetheless, I require the money now, and, if you do not supply, I am well within my rights to evict."

Not that he would go through on that threat. He might, if he were speaking to the nuns, though.

Emma Swann stood at that, hand clutching her mug of eggnog. "Look here, Mr. Gold..."

Gold raised a hand, missing the days where that hand could send a spout of magic that could silence her forever. "This is not your concern, sheriff," he said coldly.

Of course he should have known that would not stop Emma Swann.

"Actually, as sheriff, it is." She stalked forward, until she was standing just behind him, but Gold did not bother to turn around. "You can't evict someone without two weeks' notice, and Granny will have the rent money by then."

Gold growled, deep in his throat, and spun around on the barstool slowly. "My contract with Mrs. Lucas and her wayward charge came about of an interesting set of circumstances. You are welcome to review it down at the Town Hall, if you wish, but I believe you will find that I can, and will, evict Mrs. Lucas and her granddaughter from the property they rent for me if, at any time, they fail to meet the rent, which can be gathered up to two weeks prior to the official rent day. Mrs. Lucas herself signed this contract, and so we do not have an issue, Ms. Swann."

Emma Swann glared at him, but then took her seat in the red booth that she always occupied once more. Ruby walked over to take her plate, giving her a sad but grateful smile, and then disappeared into the back kitchen.

Mr. Gold stood, wiping off his pantsuit as if the barstool had contaminated it thoroughly. "But since I am feeling generous, I am willing to return for the rent tomorrow," he said coolly, speaking loudly so that there would be no mistaking his words.

There was a crash from the kitchens, and then Grumpy the dwarf spoke up, brows knitting together in horror.

"But...tomorrow's Christmas!"

"So it is," Mr. Gold muttered, and, grabbing his cane, spun on his heel and left. The door to the diner chimed angrily as it slammed shut behind him.

As he exited the diner, he nearly slammed into Mary Margaret, who was just entering, and they both collapsed into the heaps of snow surrounding the shoveled walkway into the diner. Mr. Gold let out an annoyed huff as his cane went flying through the air, only to land a few feet away, on Mary Margaret's left heel.

No doubt she was here to meet Sheriff Swann. The fact that those two had become such fast friends, despite the fact Ms. Blanchard was a little mouse in this world, annoyed him today more than ever.

While he could never see his son until the curse broke, and perhaps even after, Snow White had her daughter right in front of her, and didn't even appreciate it.

And that irritated him to no end.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Mary Margaret apologized quickly, taking his hand and helping him to his feet. She quickly grabbed his cane, holding it out to him with eyes downcast, as if she were afraid he might take it and hit her with it.

Yes, a mouse in this world. Regina had really done a number on her, and Gold supposed that the woman laughed every time she saw the brave heroine-turned schoolteacher like this.

"It's fine," Gold hissed through gritted teeth, and moved to go around her, feet sloshing through the wet snow as he tried to dust off the white powder currently wetting his striped suit.

"Well, Merry Christmas then," Mary Margaret called after him, and something about the way she said the words made him stop.

"Humbug," he said agian, perhaps more loudly than he had intended, and Mary Margaret gasped in surprise.

"Christmas a humbug?" she echoed. "You can't mean that, Mr. Gold. Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year in Storybrooke, even better than the Miners' Festival. I mean..." she trailed off, seeming to realize for the first time whom she was speaking to.

Mr. Gold resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Good day, Ms. Blanchard," he said coldly, and walked the rest of the way to the picket fence surrounding Granny's diner.

"Merry Christmas!" Mary Margaret called boldly after him, and he was too annoyed to take any satisfaction out of the fact that, in that moment, she almost sounded like Snow White.

* * *

><p>Mr. Gold's Pawn Shop was perhaps the only store still open at midnight on Christmas Eve, and yet those out braving the cold in an attempt to get home walked a little faster as they passed it.<p>

Gold was just wiping down the counter then, having spent his day selling ornaments and watches to those wishing to buy something unique for their children and significant others.

Christmas Eve was perhaps the busiest day of the year for the pawn shop, oddly enough. He wondered if this was because those who came to buy from him simply forgot to buy presents until the very last minute, or were too terrified to talk themselves into entering Gold's shop sooner.

He suspected it was the latter that brought them here in droves, but, by midnight, they had all gone.

Gold sighed, leaning against the counter and contemplating sleeping through the next day. Perhaps that would make the loneliness of the holiday pass more quickly, though he suspected that his dreams would be laced with memories, nonetheless.

He almost missed the time before Emma had entered Storybrooke, when he didn't know who he was and didn't have these memories of the other world, the other life. At least then, he had only been Mr. Gold, lonely because the town feared him, not because everyone he had ever loved was now lost to him, in some manner or another.

Sleep did indeed sound welcoming, at this point. He had been up early in the morning, early because his dreams of late haunted him, and no sleeping tonic from Dr. Whale would assist.

The door to his pawn shop burst open suddenly, the little bell above it chiming a complaint, and Gold glanced up in irritation, setting aside the rags he had been using to wipe down the counter and squinting at his new guest.

It took a moment to realize whom this was, rushing up to the front of the pawn shop and ignoring Gold's startled cry of, "If you can't read the sign, dearie, I'm just closing for the night."

It was a dream. That was the first thought that came to mind as Mr. Gold recognized his visitor.

It simply had to be, or Gold was truly going insane and needed to check himself into the mental hospital beneath Storybrooke General that Regina and Dr. Whale thought no one knew about.

Becuase there was no possible way for Zoso to be standing in Gold's pawn shop, in Storybrooke, Maine, three hundred years after Rumpelstiltskin had stabbed him in the heart with the Dark One's blade.

Zoso's face twisted into a slow grin, predatory in nature, and he took a step forward, his grin only widening when Gold took a step back, reaching beneath the counter for the pistol he hid there.

"Have you missed me, Rumpelstiltskin?" he asked, and his rotting teeth set forth a putrid stench that forced Mr. Gold to turn his face away in disgust.

"You aren't real," Mr. Gold ground out. "You're dead. I killed you; I watched you die."

The previous Dark One smirked. "Yes, you did. And I remember that day with great fondness towards you, Rumpetlstiltskin, for finally bringing me peace. It is for this reason, and this alone, that I come to warn you."

"Warn me?" Gold echoed, his hand closing around the gun. He could only hope that the sound of his slightly loud voice covered up the sound of his cocking the gun.

"Indeed," Zoso rumbled, still grinning. "You have gathered an impressive amount of research regarding how a Dark One is to be killed, Rumpelstiltskin, and yet you have neglected what might happen to them after their death."

He glowered at the spirit, if that was what this creature was. "I do not believe in the afterlife," he said finally, when it became clear that Zoso was waiting for him to say something. He wasn't sure if that was the truth. He knew that Mr. Gold of the curse did not believe in the afterlife, but Rumpelstiltskin...

Zoso smirked, leaning forward so that his nose was inches away from Mr. Gold's own, his fists pressing against the glass countertop. "Well then, you had better start."

Gold eyed him. "How is it that you have come to haunt me, when you were killed in the Enchanted Forest, and this is a world without magic?"

Zoso shrugged, as if the answer was inconsequential, and yet Mr. Gold's mind had turned to every soul he had killed, wondering if they, too, planned to return and haunt him, as Zoso did.

"You and I were not so very different, Rumpelstiltskin. We both took the power of the Dark One to save the ones we loved, and yet managed only corrupt what goodness was left inside us. It is an unspoken rule of humanity, Rumpelstiltskin, a rule that I did not learn until after my death, that we should try to help one another. If we do not do so in our lives, we are forced to do so after our deaths." He sighed, exhaustion seeping into his words. "I have been condemned to wander through the worlds, both magical and not, since you killed me, three hundred years ago, looking upon those whom I could have helped in life."

Mr. Gold swallowed. "I am...sorry."

Zoso turned cold eyes upon him. "The curse of the Dark One followed me for one century, and, by the end, I was begging a desperate soul to grant me the mercy of death, yet death has been no mercy. Can you even begin to imagine, Rumpelstiltskin, the wandering that you will be condemned to?"

Gold licked his lips nervously. "Is there no way to avoid it? Why do you come to warn me, if this is to be my fate?"

Zoso shrugged. "There is a way to avoid all of this, and would that I knew of it before I asked you to kill me. I come to you with this opportunity, as thanks for allowing me my freedom in death."

Gold let out a sigh of relief, because, though he was still unsure that he believed Zoso's words, it was at least comforting to know that, if what the man spoke was true, he would be spared. "Thank you-"

"You will be haunted tonight by three familiar spirits, who will lead you through the path to redemption. Should you fail to travel all the way to the end, your wandering shall be far more horrific than my own, for you had the chance to fix things and squandered them."

Gold felt his mouth go dry at these words, the hand clenching the gun tightening until he was worried he might accidently pull the trigger. "And how is this thanking me?" he demanded, a bit of coldness clinging to his words.

Zoso just smiled. "The spirits will come at every hour until the morning. Do not expect to wake if you fail in this venture, Rumpelstiltskin."

And he fired the gun. The bullet crashed through the glass countertop, shattering it into a thousand little pieces, and plunged into the previous Dark One's chest with a sickening crunch.

But there was no blood, no real impact. Zoso simply vanished into thin air, little spirals of black smoke the only indication he had ever been there to begin with.

* * *

><p>Mr. Gold managed to shake the shock gripping him at this sudden turn of events long enough to make his way out to the old cadillac parked behind the pawn shop.<p>

The spirit had been Zoso; there was no one living who knew such personal things about Rumpelstiltskin, who remembered how the Dark One had come to be. Not even Regina would know such things, and, even if she did insist on making his life as miserable as possible since finding out that he remembered as much as she, Regina would never turn to something like this.

She knew better than to make Mr. Gold angry, after having reached this odd alliance with him regarding Mrs. Nolan. And it would have been impossible for her to do so, given that there was no magic left in Storybrooke.

There was no magic in this world. So how had Zoso even appeared to him in this form?

The simple fact that he did not have the answer to that question troubled Mr. Gold greatly, and he barely registered the coughing sound of the old cadillac's engine roaring to life beneath him, even as he twisted the key into the ignition.

The old car revved to life, the tires spinning and squealing on ice as it turned onto the highway. Mr. Gold tossed his cane into the back, draping it across the seat, and flipped on the radio.

Static burst over the airwave; Storybrooke was not known for its abundance of stations, and then old rock burst to life, and Mr. Gold jumped in his seat, spinning down the volume.

He did not usually listen to music in the car; he preferred the silence, found it more calming than anything, and yet, tonight, the sound of the blaring music brought him down to earth, calmed him after the strange fiasco in his shop.

It was just as Gold was convincing himself that perhaps this was all a dream, that perhaps Zoso had not really appeared to him in his shop, that he realized how exhausted he was.

The moon was not out tonight; that, after several lifetimes in the Enchanted Forest, was a small comfort, at least, and yet it did not reveal the time.

And it occured to him, then, that perhaps he had simply dreamed the events of the past hour or so; had fallen into a troubled sleep atop the counter in the pawn shop and his overactive imagination had taken care of the rest.

Yes, that was what it was, what it had to be, in this world. A simple dream.

"Keep trying to convince yourself of that, Rumpelstiltskin," a voice to his right caused him to jump again. This time, it was not because he had simply been spooked. He recognized this voice, at the same time young and ancient, kind and cruel.

The car swerved as Mr. Gold spun to face her, and the Seer that had been the cause of _all _this smiled-a tight, cool smile-and muttered, "Rumpelstiltskin, keep your eyes on the road lest you kill us both. Or, one of us."

"Because only one of us is still living, is that it?" Gold muttered sarcastically. "Tell me, dearie, am I to be visited tonight by all those whom I had the misfortune of meeting and then killing, in the Enchanted Forest?"

The Seer smiled at him, the gaping scars where he could only assume her eyes had once been crinkling with that smile. "Most of us, yes, but not all."

Gold blinked at her. "What is that even supposed to mean?" he demanded, teeth clenching in annoyance. Seers. He had forgotten how little he missed them from before the curse.

She shook her head, folding delicate white hands-still sporting those seeing blue eyes, and it was for that reason alone that Gold knew this had to be a dream-in her lap and giving him a patient smile.

"Ah, yes," Gold frowned at her, "how could I forget? Seers and their cryptic words."

"Keep driving, Rumpelstiltskin," the Seer stated calmly, still not looking at him, but out the window-which no longer shielded them from snow and the beginnings of hail, but from rain.

"Wh-What?" Mr. Gold demanded, and then glanced down, because he no longer wore the sophisticated suit of his Storybrooke persona, but the shining, tight leathers of Rumpelstiltskin. And his skin was gold and shimmering. His cane still lay across the backseat of the car, impossibly here, but he no longer felt the need to reach for it as his hands pressed against the door handle.

"Welcome home, Rumpelstiltskin," the Seer said quietly, and Rumpelstiltskin gasped when he realized why.

They were in a place Mr. Gold could have never imagined and Rumpelstiltskin thought he would never see again.

The Enchanted Forest.


End file.
